


Red Raw

by Laurasauras



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: Dave got really badly sunburnt. Bro helps.





	Red Raw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grubbutts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/gifts).



You’re bracing yourself for disapproval the whole way up the stairs. John’s walking with you because you couldn’t bear the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder and he claimed he’s teased you enough about it to need to help you, you know, to work off the karma points. You could’ve held your bag in your hand, even though every step you take is an excruciating reminder you have skin, but you’re taking the coward’s way out. Maybe Bro won’t yell at you if there’s company.

Okay, in honesty? Bro’s not gonna yell at you regardless. If he needed to do something so lame to get your attention, you probably would’ve moved out like you always thought people did when they turned 18, but he’s cool and you can’t afford rent on your own and you’ve always really acted like roommates anyway. Roommates who just so happen to like … love each other. 

‘I mean apart from all this,’ John is saying, ‘it was a good time! I’ll be able to drag you to the beach again some time, right?’

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Preferably without this consequence, my Strider machismo is running overtime to try and make this cool, but yeah.’

‘I’d be nervous about going home to my dad too,’ John whispers. 

‘I’m not nervous,’ you say. You’re just struggling to find your key, that’s all. So many fuckin’ keys on this thing, like at least … four. You get the door open.

Bro’s on the couch, watching TV with his arm spread all over the back of it. The kind of space you usually would love to get all up into, he just lands like that and you don’t have to do any work to get what approximates as a cuddle from him and if you sit in that space he’ll start mindlessly playing with your hair because he’s a fidgeter, you can see his thumb tracing the buttons of the remote because he struggles to sit still to watch shit.

He doesn’t turn around, not even when John dumps your bag on the floor louder than you would’ve or says goodbye. He does when John carelessly slaps you on the shoulder as he leaves and you yelp.

‘Oh-my-god-sorry,’ John says. ‘I forgot! Somehow, hahaha. Use the aloe!’

John leaves and you’re left frozen, shoulders up and head low from where you flinched away from him, staring at Bro for a reaction.

‘What the fuck,’ Bro says.

‘Okay, so it turns out that you need to reapply sunscreen more frequently when you’re swimming,’ you say. ‘And also, water reflects the sun up so you get twice as much exposure. And also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m really goddamn pale, which means that I’m like, vulnerable to this kind of bullshit.’

‘You’re not pale right now,’ he says.

This is, unfortunately, true. You look like you stole bubblegum from Willy Wonka, but it was strawberry flavoured not grape. You look like you were auditioning for the inverse of the Blue Man Group, but with hair. You look … really fucking sunburnt.

‘I’m fine, really,’ you say. ‘Stupid, obviously, and it hurts, so I really don’t need any further punishment on top of experiencing the consequences of my actions, but I’m okay. It looks worse than it is, I’m pretty sure.’

He stares at you. You straighten up and affect a casual disinterest in his assessment. It’s unconvincing, but essential. You’re not in so much pain that you can’t act normal. He sighs enormously, making you wince all the way to your soul but not a millimeter outwardly, and stands up from the couch.

‘Cold shower, now,’ he insists.

You’d resist for the sake of resisting a guardian-type command, but you’re keen to keep the lectures to an absolute minimum. You head to the bathroom, with him on your heels for some reason.

‘I actually figured out how to take solo showers at least a year ago,’ you say, covering your nerves with sarcasm.

‘Yeah, and I figured out how to jerry-rig this thing with ludicrous pressure about the same time, which I’m thinkin’ you don’t want right now.’ 

He eases past you, pulling out his swiss army knife from his pocket as he goes. It has an impossible number of add-ons, and he uses an adjustable wrench to do _something_ handy with the showerhead. 

He leaves the bathroom and you slowly ease out of your clothes, wincing as your muscles stretching pulls on your tight skin and the cotton of your shirt drags against your back. It’s worst on your shoulders, but it’s pretty bad everywhere. You try not to look in the mirror. It looks like your mom was whatever the lobster equivalent of a furry is. 

You turn on the shower and ease into the cold-side-of-lukewarm water. Bro’s done something so that it’s coming out almost as gentle as drizzling rain. You groan as it soothes the uncomfortable heat. Even with it as gentle as it is, you can’t bear to put your face in it, so you cup water in your hands and hold it up to your face. You can actually feel the water getting warmer.

The bathroom door opens and you make traditional, ‘dude, ocupado,’ protests, but to your disappointment Bro doesn’t hang around. When you get out of the shower you see that he’s gotten you one of _his_ towels. Yours does look ratty as fuck next to the soft fluffiness of his, and you’re almost too nervous to use it. But he literally wouldn’t allow you access to his toiletries unless it was on purpose. He’s got a refined ablutionary taste. 

Your skin is almost hydrophobic like this anyway, so you dry your hair and then pat the rest of you dry. It’s almost a shame you’re not in any kind of shape to enjoy your luxury experience. You can barely tolerate even this towel on your skin. You wrap it around your hips and groan at the way your skin has already heated right back up. The glimpse of your reflection you get before you put your shades back on is patently ridiculous. (You look like what you assumed red pandas looked like until you learned they’re more like racoon-cat-babies.)

You head to your bedroom to get some fresh clothes, but Bro catches you before you can go inside and pulls you into the living room. 

‘Dude, I’m basically naked,’ you say, but you don’t resist his grip on your wrist. For one, why would you ever resist anything he’s suggesting and for another, the thought of pulling your arm away with any kind of urgency hurts even in your mind.

He sits you on the edge of the couch cushion and twists you so your back is to the majority of the couch. The first aid kit is on the other cushion, and he sits in between you and it. 

‘Fucking hell, Dave, you did a number on this,’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ you mumble.

The aloe tube makes an obscene squelching noise as he pours some onto his hand and you peek behind you to watch him rub his hands together, coating them. 

‘We’re gonna do this hourly, and if these blisters don’t go down on their own, guess we’ll try milk soaked bandages or somethin’.’

His hands touch lightly on your shoulders and you hang your head, biting down on a groan. He’s so gentle as he spreads the gel over your skin, up your neck and then down your back. You close your eyes and luxuriate in the first relief you’ve had for days. You couldn’t reach the worst parts on yourself and your stupid friends believed you when you said you could manage on your own.

Bro laughs under his breath and your eyes snap open, looking over your shoulder.

‘You gonna start purring?’ he teases.

‘Oh, you’d love that,’ you say. ‘Get yourself a little catboy, lay on your lap while you’re doing your knitting and on your face when I think it’s time for you to get up and feed me, shit in a box and wear a little bell, hurking up hairballs and leaving dead birds on your pillow, you’d fucking _love_ it.’

You mean to be biting and sarcastic, but he’s still massaging the lotion into your skin and your voice is slurring with pleasure. 

‘So basically exactly the same as it is now,’ Bro says.

You make a very offended, high pitch noise. You don’t even know how to retort that, it’s just too ridiculous. He laughs at your outrage and starts to pull his hands down your arms to cover the burn there with aloe as well. 

‘Don’t lean back on the couch,’ he says. 

‘I’m not,’ you say. ‘Fuck, I’m tired.’

‘Your bodies attemptin’ to heal. I’mma finish this up, you’re gonna drink a full glass of water, then you can rest for an hour and we’ll do it again, ‘kay?’

‘I’m all slimey,’ you protest. ‘How’m I supposed to rest when I can’t touch anything?’

Bro turns you so he can reach your other arm and does it as well. Now that you’re facing him, you can see him thinking. It takes him until he’s started on the front of your neck and is working down your chest to actually suggest something. 

‘You could put a shirt on but I really don’t want fibres getting in your skin while it’s all exposed like this,’ he says. ‘How d’you feel about lying on me?’

Good. Excellent. Better than you’ve ever felt about doing anything ever. 

‘Fine,’ you shrug. 

He lifts your shades into your hair and bursts out laughing when he sees that they upheld their sun safety promises even when your sunscreen washed off.

‘Bro …’ you grumble. 

‘You brought this on yourself,’ he says, almost choking trying to keep his laughter under control. ‘I haven’t made even one comment about how fuckin’ ridiculous you look. Not _one_. And I’ve thought of some really funny ones.’

‘ _Bro_.’

‘A’right, a’right.’

He’s still failing to keep his face neutral, this small smile that’s mostly in his cheeks struggling to turn back into laughter as he gently strokes along the angles of your face. He’s taking such good care of you, even though it was your own dumb ass fault. 

‘You’re like if Rudolph thought the nose thing was too subtle and went for the full body look instead,’ he says.

You glare at him. He looks far too pleased with himself to notice that you’re glaring. He pulls your shades all the way off and puts them carefully on the coffee table. 

‘No leaning on the couch,’ he reminds you, before getting up and heading to the kitchen. 

You listen to the water run, turn off, and run again and then he comes back with clean hands and a glass of water. You dutifully drink it all. You were pretty thirsty anyway.

He strips off his shirt while you’re drinking and lays down on the couch, fiddling with the remote again. When you finish, he taps his pec twice, inviting you to lie on him. You make sure your towel is secure before you do, tentative about putting your weight on him. He cups the back of your head with his palm and ruffles your hair a bit. You relax into his bare chest.

He’s warm, which is kinda uncomfortable given the ridiculous amount of heat you’re generating on your own, but his skin isn’t rough on you like your clothes were or anything else you’ve had against you. 

‘I’m gonna put a movie on, but you should sleep,’ he says.

‘Why’re you being so nice? I brought this on myself.’

‘You think I never got burnt?’ he asks. ‘Fuck, I stay inside for a reason.’

‘’Cause you have no friends, right,’ you say.

He tugs on your hair just a bit. Given even a poke on your shoulder would hurt way more, he’s being pretty fucking nice. 

‘Sleep, lil man,’ he says. 

‘Only because I choose to,’ you mumble, closing your eyes.


End file.
